Forgotten Relations
by foxytan
Summary: Canada has always loved winter. The only time he can be left truly alone. But what happens when an old lover makes a phone call and he finds himself on a trip to memory lane. Now, the poor nation has met another potential lover, who seems so ready to heal his wounds, but with his past trailing close behind, will he be able to make the right decisions?
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold winter's night, dark night sky forbidding to anyone who may dare to venture out in the raging storm. But for Matthew Williams, this was the perfect weather. He loved the sounds of wind, ravishing the outside walls of his modest apartment, love the way the snow piled against every window, providing shelter from the sun on lazy Sunday afternoons he spent, curled up in his bed with a mug of hot coco. But most of all, he loved winter, a beautiful season, the only time of the year where no one would dare to disturb him. Winter was a time of peace, where most forgot all about him, and it was alright.

As the Canadian pondered, he sipped the warm bowl of soup in his lap, flicking through the the sports channel until he finally came across a hockey game. He recognized the Canadian team right away, but it took a while to identify the Russian team, and that the score was a tie. Three to three, with ten minutes left in the game. He cheered to the end, even though the Russians won, and smiled softly.

"Only the first game of many." He thought aloud, when his phone began to ring in his lap. He pulled his phone from his pocket with difficulty, checking the caller ID and rolling his eyes. He pressed the answer key and slowly brought the device to his right ear. "Yes?" he spoke quietly into the receiver, tightening his free hand into a fist as the soft, accented voice began to speak.

"C-Canada?" The voice stuttered.

"Francis, you know we all use human names right? I don't know why you persist on using my true identity." Matthew replied, softly sighing.

"Yes, I know, old habit, tu sais?" He replied, clearing his throat. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

Matthew tightened his fist, biting his lower lip and inhaling lightly.

"Oui, I guess they do." He replied quietly. "Anyway, what is going on?"

"Oh, oui, I was calling to see if you wanted to do something with me... tomorrow evening..." The last was spoken so quietly, Matthew had to strain his ear to hear him.

"W-well I suppose we c-could." He mumbled in reply.

"Alright, I will meet you chez toi." Francis quickly finished.

"Sure." Matthew replied.

"Alright."

For a few heartbeats, no words were spoken.

"Goodbye, Francis." Matthew almost sighed.

"Goodbye...Mathieu." Francis breathed into the receiver before it clicked shut.

Matthew listened to the dial tone for another heartbeat. Unclenching his fist, he hung up, exhaling sharply. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and made his way to the kitchen. He jumped slightly when he felt fur rub against his leg. He looked down and smiled slightly, picking up his small polar bear and holding it in his arms.

"Oh, Kumajiro, what are we gonna do?" He whispered against the bear's fur.

"Who?" The bear looked up at the Canadian, tilting it's head to the left side.

"Canada." The boy mumbled.

The bear sighed and nuzzled up to the boy's neck, making Matthew giggle, feeling the fur's tickles.

"You still like him, visit him." The bear growled softly.

"Je sais...mais I'm still scared." He whispered, carrying the bear to bed.


	2. Chapter 1: The Meeting

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Matthew awoke that morning to his bear scratching at the door, wanting to be let out of the room. He stretched, groaned, and walked to the door. He opened the door, letting the bear out while he rubbed a fist against his eye. He yawned, grabbing a burgundy red bath robe from his closet and making his way to the shower.

Upon entering the small shower stall, he slid the glass door shut and let the steamy water fall down his body, his hair flattened to his head. He reached up with both hands, exhaling through his mouth and slicking his hair back away from his face, opening his eyes. He put his hands against the wall he was facing, and felt his heart flutter weakly as he began hyperventilating.

Standing still, he brought his hands to his eyes, realizing he was crying. He felt his legs begin to quiver and sat down on the shower floor, pulling himself into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest. Biting his lower lip, he fought with himself, trying to stop the pain he always held so close to him from pouring out with his tears. He would not cry, not over Francis, no, not again. Never again.

He dug his nails into his hands, watching the half moons forming from the pressure his nails were creating against his palms, turning a slight pink, before unclenching his fists and bringing his hands back into his wheat blond hair, exhaling sharply. A moan of pain escaped his lips, and he sobbed into his knees while the water kept falling down upon his skin. Beginning to cry loudly, he cursed Francis and everything the man had ever done to him. Cursed himself for being so weak, and cursed the skies for not taking the pain away with time, like Arthur had promised him it would.

A small sound came to him through his sobs. He concentrated on the sound, quieting his grunts, and knew Kumajiro was scratching at the door. Probably hungry, or worried about his master. Whatever his reason, Kumajiro's scratching was what brought back Matthew's own strength. He released his knees away from his chest and rose from the shower floor, holding his weight up against the shower wall. He collected his thoughts and wrapped what was left of his pain around himself, like a child would with a security blanket. He shut the water flow off, grabbed his towel, fluffed his hair dry and wrapped his bath robe around his warm body like he had done with his pain, another shell to protect his throbbing, pained heart.

Making his way out of the bathroom, he smiled and knelt on the floor, petting the little bear, who in turn, flipped to its back so Matthew could rub his furry stomach. Giggling, the Canadian plucked the bear into his arms and carried him to the kitchen, placing him on the table and handing him a plate of pink, flaky tuna. The bear shook his little tail while he dug his claws into the fish flakes, making Matthew smile while he turned and began a pancake mixture.

The Canadian pulled a pan from his cupboards and poured the mix, forming a small circle shape into the silver pan, and continued this way until at least a dozen golden pancakes were placed on the kitchen table, Kumajiro having long ago fallen asleep into his now licked clean plate. As Matthew placed his fork into his second pancake, soaked in maple syrup, the doorbell sounded throughout the house, waking Kuma with a start, which in turn made the poor bear fall off the table. Matthew smiled at his little friend, before pushing back his chair and making his way to the door, still smiling as he opened it, revealing a tall, dark blond man, standing behind the door, the sunny outside light framing his features lovingly.

His smile slipped from his lips, and he frowned, trying to collect his thoughts. Oh.

"F-Francis..." He exhaled, his eyes sliding down the man's body. He had changed so much in the years Canada had ignored him. He shook his head, pulling out of his rêverie and clearing his throat. "O-oh, right, well, c-come in...please." He added, stepping away from the door to let the man in.

"Merci, Mathieu." Francis replied, making Canada shiver. As much as he hated to admit it, he had missed the man's use of his french name. Matthew forced a smile on his lips, trying to subdue the shivers, and cleared his throat once more.

"I made way too much pancakes," He began. Would...would you like some?" He asked bravely. The French man simply nodded, a small smile on his lips as he rubbed a hand in Matthew's curls, before sitting at the table and laughing his particular 'on hon hon' as the small polar bear jumped into his lap to be pet by the stranger. Hearing the laugh, Matthew quickly looked in the dining room, and his heart fluttered at the scene. "_Dammit Kumajiro,_ _you're not suppose to like him remember?Besides, why are you suddenly so affectionate, you're never like this with Arthur, even though he takes care of you." _Matthew thought, staring at the scene confusedly.

He shook his head once more, successfully keeping the frown off of his face as he brought over a plate of pancakes and a bottle of jam for the man. He stared in abomination as the French man poured the wild berry jam on perfectly made pancakes and began to eat. Francis looked up at the boy through thick blond lashes, smiling mockingly.

"Still so averse to the idea of my perfect pancake, I see?" He teased.

"I still don't understand how someone could pass on maple syrup and want, of all things, JAM." He replied, strong emphasis on the last word. Francis smiled gently.

"All these years have not changed you, mon chéri." He stated, staring intently at the nation as they finished eating and made their way out together.

_Au contraire, Francis, you have no idea how much I've changed since our last meeting._ The smaller man thought as they made their way through Canada's capital city, Ottawa. _Trust me, you haven't the slightest idea..._

_*Rêverie: French spelling of reverie, a common expression: having your head in the clouds._

_*Merci: French for "Thank you"_

_*Mon Chéri: French for "My Dear"_

_*Au Contraire: French for "On The Contrary", to begin an opposition._

Thanks for reading :) I will try to have the next chapter up sometime this week. Let me know if you see any spelling mistakes or such. Remember, Reviews are love ! :D

Foxytan


	3. Chapter 2: Broken Promises

Chapter 2: Broken Promises

While they made their way throughout the large city, Matthew kept his distance from the French man. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd missed the man, so much so he had often caught himself thinking of getting in touch with him once again, before shutting out his feelings and running back to Arthur for some sort of support. But when it came down to that same man finally making contact with him once more, how was he ever to say no? And for that, Matthew had begun to hate himself.

_How dare he force himself back into my life, after everything! _Matthew mentally yelled to Francis, as he watched the bouncing blond curls front he corner of his eye. _How dare he bring back these painful memories, what gives him the right?_ _It's not fair, It's not right! So why do I still want this so badly? I suppose I like the pain? What's wrong with me! _Matthew struggled with his thoughts, and hastily wiped a tear away when Francis turned to him with the most beautiful smile any man could have ever beheld.

In his chest, Matthew's heart ceased to beat, while in his head, his brain screamed out at him. _Don't you remember what that smile did to you all those years ago? The broken promises? Don't you remember anything? _And of course ... Of course he remembered. How was he to ever forget such pain? He felt his knees go weak beneath him, and the last conscious thing he did was to bring his hands to his head as he fell forward, in time to fall into a deep, cold darkness.

* * *

_I must be sleeping_, Matthew kept thinking, enclosed in the close darkness. But he was not bothered. After all, this was better than the pain he kept so close to his heart. Sighing softly, he realized the darkness seemed to be receding. He blinked, and there seemed to be a bright light, slowly creeping forward. He watched it move towards him, like watching an impending car crash and being helpless to do anything at all. He was overwhelmed by the light, and felt himself slowly slipping away into the light, blinking himself awake into a long ago forgotten land. Staring, shapes began to form around him. Greens, and browns...trees? Grass?

_What's going on? _He wondered.

_Where am I? _

Blinking once more, he found himself walking through a forest, branches and leaves brushing his legs, unable to stop the succession of events before him. He made his way across a beaten path, and found himself on a beach. No, not a beach. _Fishing area._ He suddenly remembered. The thought seemed strange to him, somehow alien, but he continued moving nonetheless. He found himself projected in a scenery of long-houses in the distance, and children playing with small toys while the smell of roasting fish came to his sense of smell.

He stood, motionless, and watched as dark skinned men walked to the water's shore, watching like an impending doom was falling before them, while a group of well dressed men walked to the shores, giant ships trailing behind them. One man, although younger and less arrogant, he recognized. The blond curls, the loud laugh, the conquering expression he wore as he walked to greet the men. No, not just men. _The Chief and his tribe. The Iroquois tribe. _He seemed to remember as he stared on.

Matthew found himself suddenly overwhelmed with nostalgia, recognizing the Iroquois tribe he had known so well in the past. These were his people. And his people, little did they know, would be betrayed. Matthew would suffer the loss of thousands, and find himself adopting a new population, a new ruler, his lands suddenly in someone else's hands, his and his population's freedom stripped from their very beings. He watched as the blond man he had trusted so many years ago made first contact with his own, all over again, how he amazed the Chief with dull, worthless objects. Mirrors, alcohol. But worst of all, weapons, guns, things to bring his people to extinction. He screamed internally, he had to stop this before it was too late!

He found himself being propelled forward, his own legs pushing him towards that tall French man with hatred, ready to annihilate him before he caused harm to his own people all over again. As he reached the taller man, he was finally able to hear what the man had said all those years ago. "My men will never harm this land, nor will they harm the inhabitants of it. Instead, we wish to live side by side in peace. And from this day forth, I swear to protect those of you who shall need protection from further invasions." He had spoken proudly. Little did the Chief know that their very own ''protector'' would bring forth their own destruction. _A broken, worthless promise! _Matthew cried, remembering more and more of his nation's painful past.

Matthew found himself screaming at the Chief, failing attempts at warning him, as his pleas fell upon death ears, while the men shook hands and celebrated. Matthew fell to his knees, screaming, as the scene before him warped into a horrid scene of burning long-houses, women being stabbed, raped, and murdered. The screaming of children as they were taken away from their families. The cries of war the men echoed as they attempted to take revenge on the paler skinned men, only to be found taken in shackles and forced into slavery.

Matthew knelt in the sand of that shore where so long ago, he had foolishly trusted a man to help protect his growing population, crying and yelling at the sky. Where was these men's ''God'' when his people were being destroyed? Where was that ''divine miracle'' these men had promised their ''God'' would give them? Why hadn't He stopped this? Why were his people being murdered, because of his foolish mistake? Helpless, Matthew looked to the sky and screamed to be taken, to spare his people and to be sacrificed himself. Why were his people being punished, when all they had ever done was take care of the land this ''God'' had given them. _It's not fair! _Matthew cried, as he closed his eyes, shutting out the pain of the memories that were now overwhelming him.

* * *

Matthew lay in the sand, his eyes closed and his ears covered, when he realized it had become completely quiet once more. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by pale skinned men and women, small children, dancing to songs the elders sang for them. He watched in awe, listening to his people express themselves in French. Since the decimation of the first nation tribes, these people were all the poor nation had left, and he had sworn that this time, no one would bring an end to their happiness, not without him putting up a fight.

The man he now knew as France had not been seen within his lands for years. Matthew had been left to take care of these strange creatures on his own, to learn this new language and way of life, and to assure them a great life. He had done so well. They all seemed so happy. He found himself being carried on his weak legs, through a small village of happy families, a school filled with smiling children and laughing teachers. How he had enjoyed these times of peace, watching his small communities grow larger.

On the school yard, he watched with a smile as a small boy stole a kiss from a little girl, who ran off, blushing. He chuckled softly, watching the boy giggle. At least he hadn't failed his people this time. He had done so well for these people, if he did say so himself.

The ground shook beneath him and he looked ahead, witnessing with horror the ending of the beautiful days of peace. He watched as men with a strange new language and large, proudly floating flags made their way across the village, to the _Maire du village._ To the Mayor, a tall, thick eyebrow-ed man made salutations in a broken up french. He spoke for hours with the man, before leaving at dusk, and coming back the next day at the crack of dawn, and so on, for many months.

"I know how the French have treated you, mon bon Monsieur, abandoning you in such strange lands, leaving you to cope for yourselves in this deserted country. I also know that if you allow my men to stay here, within your lands, we will protect you from further harm from those French bastards, and that we shall actually take care of your people." _Promises you are soon to forget, Arthur. Please, please, just leave my people alone! _The Nation silently pleaded

Matthew had watched each passing day with horror, as slowly but surely, the Mayor had granted him access to his lands, which to his surprise, brought war upon them when the French came to banish the English from their lands. All these years, alone and fending for themselves, when suddenly, back from their absence, this land supposedly belongs to the French, and the French only. All these years of exile, but when it came time to share, France would have none of that.

Once again, Matthew watched, helpless, praying that his people made it out safely. Luckily, the English were banished from the lands twice, but it would not be long before the attacks would reoccur. Alas! The French did lose at some point, and to Matthew's horror, his population found itself abandoned by the mother land and handed over to the enemy forces. _I wish you could see what you caused Francis. How your abandonment lead to the deaths of an entire population! You bastard! _Matthew mentally cursed the French man, screaming internally.

The English took possession of the lands and banished its inhabitants, deporting thousands of Matthew's Acadian population to exile. This time, Matthew found himself unable to protest. He lay in a field of grass, broken, watching hundreds of the Acadians burned alive in a church. Everyone he had ever trusted had brought destruction upon his country. So many of his population, HIS people, brutally murdered, and it had been his fault, all because he had failed to protect them adequately. How could he have been so stupid? To trust a complete stranger. _I should, I should have known, and I should have stopped it!_ It was HIS foolishness that had brought the destruction of his people. HE had failed to protect them, like he had promised himself he would. How was he to expect others to keep their oaths while even he failed to keep his own promises from fraying and breaking?

This time, Matthew did not dare look away, if he could bring this horror to his people, he could watch the show go down, until all that was left of his nation were ruins, charred bodies, and mutilated men. Of course, Matthew knew England would come to his senses one day, and apologize for all the wrong he had caused. He also knew that the British man would never abandon him, or his country, and only help him grow, unlike that French bastard, who had given Matthew's people over to the enemy... without a second glance... without remorse...

Matthew lay in that grassy field, his memories flooding back to him, forcing the lock he had branded so deep upon his heart to be ripped open, setting forth waves of immense pain and self hatred, that only a nation could have contained without having its very being, its core, destroyed. He cried, loud sobs racking his body, until he found himself fading once more into the comforting darkness, where he could simply float and not have to exist, not really. Where he did not need to feel all this pain, these memories of his people suffering, the cries of helplessness that had been engraved in his memory, haunting his dreams, turning every one of them to nightmares forevermore...

_Its nice here..._ He found himself thinking, before sinking into the darkness completely.

* * *

*Maire du village: French for Mayor of the village.

*Mon Bon Monsieur: French for my good sir.

(A/N)

So this chapter mentions a lot of Canadian history. From what I remember learning in school, around the 1600's, Canada was a foreign land inhabited by what we now call the first nations. There were different first nation tribes, like the Iroquois, the Hurons, the Mohawks and a few others. When the french discovered the land, they brought objects such as guns, mirrors, alcohol, clothing, to exchange with the first nation furs that they would trap. Eventually, the french began to colonize the land and took up more of the land. To gain more of the land, they forced children into first nation reformations schools, where they were forced to become Christians, forbidden to speak or practice their Indian language and culture. They no longer saw their families. Meanwhile, the french began to kill off some of the larger tribes, and forced a few into slavery.

Eventually, the English came up from today's United States, which back then were called the thirteen colonies and began colonizing the southern parts of Canada. When France found out, both the french and English began a war, to keep ownership of the land. Eventually the french lost, and didn't come back to take back ownership of canada, called new france at the time. Voltaire, a french philosopher, was asked how he felt about his country's abandonment of Canada, commented: "Oh, pour quelques arpents de neige... ca n'en vaut pas la peine" Which basically translates to "oh, well for just a few acres of snow...not worth it." eventually, the English traveled to Acadia, a small community from the coastal provinces and had them deported off to other areas of the world, and the ones who refused to leave were killed. A church was also filled with members of the community and set on fire, killing 100's of Acadians.

***Now, this chapter was based on what I remember from my history courses, and what information I found online. It might not be 100% exact, so if you see some inaccuracies, you can let me know. If you wish to learn more, then you can always do a little research :) There is a nice time line on the link below that gives a short resume of the different events.***

Here's the link: /first-nations/timeline/timeline-2

**As always, thanks for reading! Reviews are love, let me know if you see grammar errors or such! Thanks !**

**Foxytan**


	4. Chapter 3: A Near Escape

Chapter 3:

Matthew awoke with a gasp, his eyes flying open as he sat up suddenly. He held a hand to his chest, his small heart beating like a drum. His body was stiff, like he'd been asleep way too long. He groaned, rolling his neck and shoulders until he felt his heart slowing and beating normally.

He looked around, over the edge of a couch he did not seem to recognize. He could peek into the next room from here, but his vision was blurred from his lack of glasses. He pawed at his surrounding until his fingers clasped around the cool metal frames, seated on a small pine coffee table. He brought his glasses to his face, securing them behind his ears while he blinked the world to clarity once more.

_''Where am I?'' _He began to wonder as he slid from the couch to the floor and inched his way into the next room. The place was not familiar to the Canadian. He made his way into what he took for the dining room, found a light switch and flicked it on, illuminating the large room and its contents.

It was painted a soft burgundy color, a massive, dark oak table occupying the center of the room, with a matching set of 8 chairs around it. He ran his fingers across its shiny surface, making his way to yet another room, where he could faintly hear a familiar voice... Francis? he pressed on, determined to find what had brought him to the French man's home.

"Yes, I know Angleterre, believe me I am very aware- "

"Why am I bothering? Why am I trying? I don't know, but would you not be trying if you were in my situation? No... no maybe you are right. Maybe I shouldn't even be trying... but what if I don't? Then what? Continue to be alone for the rest of my lif- ..

"Yes, I know it happens every time, but what else am I suppose-"

Matthew leaned against the entrance, being careful not to make a sound as he watched the french man try to express himself, and his feelings, over the phone he held to his ear.

"Do not try to blame his attitude on me, mon cher, you and I both know you have done far worse than moi, and still gotten forgiveness, so why should it be any different for-" A lengthy pause here, where the french man continued to pace the room endlessly.

"No, no of course not. that was not what I meant Arthur...I was.. I just... I wish he could forgive me too. I have done wrong, yes but how long must he stay away from me. I... I miss him Arthur. I can't take our separation any longer."

"Yes I am aware I gave him up first, but how many have given one another up in the past only to be brought back together with the passing of time? How much longer must I wait Arthur? How much more must I do to prove my repentance? ... How am I suppose to prove how sorry I am when he will not even approach me anymore?!" He exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly.

The small Canadian watched as Francis seemed to struggle with his words and tame his emotions from his voice. He watched as the other blonde hastily wiped at a tear making its way down his cheek, and he felt terrible. _Why do I feel bad? He's never apologized for what he did to my people, so why should I feel bad for not giving him a chance? Why must I feel like such a terrible person when the real monster is standing right before me? _Matthew pondered, clenching his fists against his sides. He watched, only his self-control stopping him from reaching out for the French man, while Francis whispered a barely audible goodbye into the receiver and hung up, sliding the phone back to his right, back pocket.

The French man began to turn towards the door, where Matthew had positioned himself. Matthew considered ducking out of the room unnoticed, but felt it was uncalled for. Not like he could have run out anyways, considering his feet seemed to be glued to the carpet. After all, the French man had brought him back to his home to take care of him, since he had lost consciousness. It was the least he could do to at least stand there, be brave, and thank him before he made his way out, far, far away from his haunting past.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his words would not come out. He cleared his throat, closed his mouth and instead, gave the French nation the best smile he could muster up to his lips. The French man stared for a while with a slightly shock stricken face, which only made Matthew smile wider at his expression, before Francis was able to regain his composure and offer the Canadian a smile back, his unshed tears glittering in his cornflower blue eyes.

Matthew watched the man as Francis took a step forward, then another. He took one more, and another step, and one more, until he was facing the younger nation, the slight height difference forcing Canada to tilt his head slightly, to look him in the eye. He was not sure whether the palpitations of his heart were caused from fear, or from long forgotten admiration, mixed with the lust he had long ago forced out and away from his heart.

Whatever the palpitations were caused from, they were not strong enough to make him step away, when the French nation's lips fell upon his own, biting and sucking, begging for entrance. Neither did they stop him from granting entrance to the man's skilled tongue into the confines of his warm mouth. Most of all, they did not stop him from joining his tongue to the french man's caresses. He felt his back pressed to the wall he'd been leaning close to, and that was it for the small Canadian boy.

All those years of precious self-control slipped away from him with every stroke of the French man's tongue. He felt himself bring his arms around the French man's neck, without really meaning to, his hands entwining into the blonde's curly locks, tugging gently. He suddenly felt his feet raise from the floor, his body being carried until his back pressed into the cool oak surface of the table he had touched earlier that day. He wrapped his legs around Francis' hips, while the man bent over him and continued to eat at his mouth hungrily. Soft moans escaped his mouth, quickly swallowed up by Francis' mouth placed over his.

The movements soon became a rhythm, like a dance number being played out between their two entwined bodies, and it was not until he felt the French man grind his hips into him that he realized what he was doing, or rather, what he was about to do. He pulled away from the man's embrace, staring at him with shocked eyes, before slightly pushing the man away, rolling away from his grasp to stand a few feet away from him. "I-I'm sorry, Francis." He exclaimed shakily. "I... I need to go." He managed to mumble through his clenched jaw, his eyes betraying just how badly he had really wanted to stay, to plead the older man to continue, to never let go of him again.

It was that last thought that had Matthew run out into the cold winter night, the frozen flakes falling from the sky settling to melt against his cheeks, already covered with warm tears.

* * *

Angleterre: French name for England/ U.K

Mon Cher: French for my dear

Moi: French for me, or I

**Thanks for reading! As always, let me know if you see any grammar errors or such, and remember, Reviews are love!**

_Foxytan_


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